Can I get extra addiction with my cheese?

The month long vegan experiment comes to a close. No fanfare. No physical ah ha moments. No food rage. No honorary membership into PETA. I ate animal free one last meal, then the next meal animals were back. The mystique of living beast free piqued my interest. I enjoyed exploring a growing culinary culture and their fans. Even after losing ten pounds during the month, vegan ain’t my bag, baby. These teeth are meant for gnawing on meat and chewing on cheesy cheese. Oh yeah, cheese! 

Throughout the experiment I craved cheese on a visceral level. As would the ancient warrior reach in the still wee hours of the morning to itch a long severed limb, I found myself sprinkling imaginary graded cheese over food in a quiet desperation. I know the cheese is imaginary!... Walmart does not carry my favorite pretend blend. When coagulated cow utter juice is always available the thought of life without does not cause pause. Nor should the concern be there. Until my voluntary animal restriction removes a foundational source of pleasure. It’s only a month. Four weeks. Wisconsin is still in business. Cheese fuels my chi, and evidence points to ancient aliens using a technique to float blocks across rivers of molten cheese whiz while constructing my food pyramid. Thank goodness tofu stepped up and brought the comfort consistency!

In years past, this bean curd cousin of Jell-O only saw action from the culinary JV team. I occasionally sucked down tofu infused miso soup during a pregame throat lubing before a gut busting all-you-can-eat sushi main event. Tofu, you put the time in and stayed true to form. We’re calling you up from the practice squad. Once Destination 195 concludes in December tofu has a strong possibility of making the maintenance diet traveling squad. I'll dress the tofu in cheddar, Monterey Jack, Kraft singles, Swiss, or gubment cheese. The addiction has variety.

Zeal with Your Meal

The transition to vegan consisted of me eating animal flesh and animal by-products one meal, and then not eating animal flesh and animal by-products the next meal. Flipping the switch took as long as it took me to write the first sentence. No weeping, wailing, or gnashing of teeth. However, I am nowhere near receiving a PETA endorsement for No Fat Jokes Please. The sins of bacon past won’t be atoned in one month. A vacation to a country don’t make a local. And not to mention kicking my cowhide dress shoes up on the table soiled the immigration hearing for my temporary asylum request into PETA land. 

Vegan is a phase for me, not a conversion. Merely a sabbatical into the dietary component of a broader subculture, which I hope to infiltrate and gain favor. One week into eating food my food eats, I am blown away by all the suspicious looks shot my direction when people hear “vegan.” (I only sit at the carnivore kid's table during lunch.) Even after they claim reassurance that my buoyant faculties have not sprung a leak, the disdain lingers in the air like an insipid flatulent. Didn’t yo mama learn you nothing? If you keep making that face it will stick.   

I tip my free-range hat to real vegans. Especially the ones who wear the lifestyle on their sleeve. DNA testing is conclusive that they are dietary cousins to multilevel marketers, life coaches, and life insurance salesmen. Most straights, myself included, become fleeing cockroaches when their zealot light enters the room. I have faked more incoming phone calls and conjured up countless fictitious appointments to escape the zealot’s gravitational pull. Until now! I am zeal without cause. I am the leaf eater at the butcher’s shop. The house cats have the same rights as the kids.

For the remainder of my vegan exodus my canned response to the most aggravating one-word question, “Why?” will be answered by an equally annoying one-word retort, “Because.” Then I’ll draw in close with the countenance of a skilled CIA operative sent by the top brace in Langley to recruit double agents. Trusting no one except for my table mates. “I am looking for…” nervously glancing left, then right, upward toward the ceiling, then below the table, “…for a few good partners to build a vegan based revolution. Can I count on you?” If they get cold feet and deny my offer, I will quickly leap from my chair, leaving them to settle the check and gratuity, as I race toward the maître d' yelling Viva les Légumes!!!

Challenge One: Solo hike to Mt Charleston Peak (revisited)

The 2012 Destination 195 program that Jaron designed focused on workouts, with the dietary component being a simple 1800 calorie max. I added in “challenges” during that program to keep blog content fresh. The first challenge came in week three – a solo hike to Mt Charleston peak. (2012 Mt Charleston) Six years later I am in far better shape for the hike, and still attempting to keep the blog content fresh. I began at the same time as 2012, 6:00 a.m. I reached the peak at 9:50, which crushed the last mark by an hour. The final round trip time beat 2012 by an hour as well.

Hiking is way, way down on my desirability list of physical activities, especially in the mountains of Southern Nevada. Even though the views are spectacular, it is hard to walk and enjoy the sites because of the rugged terrain. Every foot placement of the 17 mile round trip is stepping on or around rugged rocks, ranging in size from pinballs to microwaves. The smaller ones are precocious and surly. Once out of the tree line footing becomes a cross between drunken pack mule and giraffe ice skating on the smooth slate leading up to the exposed peak.

Walking with my head down and eyes scanning the path immediately in front for ankle killers provided an interesting perspective. At one point I stopped using the hiking poles to see if my mind could become lost in the moment. Left was only the sound of my footsteps creating a low repetitive clanging of decomposing granite. The pain, the world, and pretty much any voluntary thought slipped away. The walking mediation worked until the ascent to the peak began. I need something more powerful to pass the time and distance. Boredom is worse than the elevation or middle-aged knees. Surprisingly, an interval exercise did the trick -- counting each time my hiking poles touched the ground up to fifty and then looking at the peak. Repeating the interval made the twenty minute trudge endurable.

At the peak I enjoyed the vistas for a few moments before descending. As I passed fellow hikers on their way up they commented, “The hard part is done for you.” So says they. The heart pounding slog up is brutally replaced by the knee pounding slog down. But once home… a shower, a bowl of soup, and ibuprofen make the world right again. Now, where is the celery? Vegan for a month is the next challenging mountain.